The Pirate Slaver

by Harry Collingwood

  “Well, yes, to a certain extent I do,” I replied. “It is the only one I have, you see; and were I to lose it the loss would occasion a considerable amount of distress to my friends. For that reason, therefore, if for no other, I attach a certain amount of value to it, and feel bound to take care of it so far as I may, with honour.”

  “Very well, then,” remarked Mendouca, with a sneer, “so far as you can with honour, refrain, I pray you, from thrusting your nationality into my face; for I may as well tell you that I have the utmost hatred and contempt for the English; I would sweep every one of them off the face of the earth if I could; and some day, when this feeling is particularly strong upon me, I may blow your brains out if I happen to remember that you are an Englishman.”

  “I hope it will not come to that, Don Fernando, for many reasons,” I remarked, with a rather forced laugh, “and among them I may just mention the base cowardice of murdering an unarmed man. I rather regret that you should be so completely as you appear to be under the dominion of this feeling of hatred for my nation; it must be as unpleasant for you as it is for me that we are thus forcibly thrown together; but it need not last long; you can put me out of the ship at the first land that we touch, and I must take my chance of making my way to a place of safety. It will be unpleasant for me, of course, but it will remove from you a constant source of temptation to commit murder.”

  Mendouca laughed—it was rather a harsh and jarring laugh, certainly—and said—

  “Upon my honour as a Spanish gentleman, you appear to be mightily concerned to preserve me from the crime of bloodshed, young gentleman. But do you suppose it would not be murder to put you ashore, as you suggest, at the first land that we reach? Why, boy, were I to do so, within six hours you would be in the hands of the natives, and lashed to the torture-stake! And would not your death then be just as much my act as though I were to shoot you through the head this moment?”

  And to my astonishment—and somewhat to my consternation, I must admit—he whipped a pistol out of his belt and levelled it full at my head, cocking it with his thumb as he did so.

  “I presume it would,” I answered steadily; “and on the whole I believe that to shoot me would be the more merciful act of the two. So fire by all means, señor, if you must take my life.”

  “By the living God, but you carry the thing off bravely, young cockerel!” he exclaimed. “Do you dare me to fire?”

  “Yes,” I exclaimed stoutly. “I dare you to fire, if you can bring yourself to perpetrate so rank an act of cowardice!”

  “Well,” he returned, laughing, as he lowered the pistol, uncocked it, and replaced it in his belt; “you are right. I cannot; at least not in cold blood. I dare say I am pretty bad, according to your opinion, but my worst enemy cannot accuse me of cowardice. And, as to putting you ashore, I shall do nothing of the kind; on the contrary, widely as our opinions at present diverge upon the subject of my calling, I hope yet to induce you to join me. You can be useful to me,” he added, in pure English, to my intense astonishment; “I want just such a cool, daring young fellow as yourself for my right hand, to be a pair of extra eyes and ears and hands to me, and to take command in my absence. I can make it well worth your while, so think it over; I do not want an answer now.”

  “But I must answer now,” I returned, also in English; “I cannot allow a single minute to elapse without assuring you, Don Fernando, that you altogether mistake my character if you suppose me capable of any participation whatever in a traffic that I abhor and detest beyond all power of expression; a traffic that inflicts untold anguish upon thousands, and, not infrequently, I should imagine, entails such a fearful waste of human life as I witnessed yesterday. Moreover, it has just occurred to me that when we attacked you and your friends in the creek this brigantine was flying a black flag. If that means anything it means, I presume, that you are a pirate as well as a slaver?”

  “Precisely,” he assented. “I am both. Some day, when we know each other better, I will tell you my story, and, unlikely as you may now think it, I undertake to say that when you have heard it you will acknowledge that I have ample justification for being both.”

  “Do not believe it, Don Fernando,” I answered. “Your story is doubtless that of some real or fancied wrong that you have suffered at the hands of society; but no wrong can justify a man to become an enemy to his race. I will hear your story, of course, if it will afford you any satisfaction to tell it me; but I warn you that neither it nor anything that you can possibly say will have the effect of converting me to your views.”

  “You think so now, of course,” he answered, with a laugh; “but we shall see, we shall see. Meanwhile, there is my steward poking his ugly visage up through the companion to tell us that breakfast is ready, so come below, my friend, and take the keen edge off your appetite.”

  It was on the day but one after this, that, about four bells in the forenoon watch, one of the hands, having occasion to go aloft to perform some small job of work on the rigging, reported a strange sail ahead. The brigantine was still running before a fair wind, but the breeze had fallen light, and it looked rather as though we were in for a calm spell, with thunder, perhaps, later on. We were going about four or maybe four and a half knots at the time, and the report of the strange sail created as much excitement on board us as though we had been a man-o’-war. For some time there seemed to be a considerable amount of doubt as to the course that the stranger was steering; for, as seen from aloft, she appeared to be heading all round the compass; but it was eventually concluded that, in general direction, her course was the same as our own.

  As the morning wore on the wind continued to drop, while a heavy bank of thunder-cloud gathered about the horizon ahead, piling itself steadily but imperceptibly higher, until by noon it was as much as Mendouca could do to get the sun for his latitude. By this time we had risen the stranger until we had brought her hull-up on the extreme verge of the horizon; and the nearer that we drew to her the more eccentric did her manoeuvres appear to be; she was heading all round the compass, and but for the fact that we could see from time to time that her yards were being swung, and some of her canvas hauled down and hoisted again in the most extraordinary manner, we should have set her down as a derelict. I ought, by the way, to have said that she was a small brig of, apparently, about one hundred and forty tons. Mendouca was thoroughly perplexed at her extraordinary antics; his glass was scarcely ever off her, and when he removed it from his eye it was only to hand it to me and impatiently demand whether I could not make out something to elucidate the mystery. At length, after witnessing through the telescope some more than usually extraordinary performance with the canvas, I remarked—

  “I think there is one thing pretty clear about that brig, and that is that she is in the possession of people who have not the remotest notion how to handle her.”

  “Eh? what is that you say?” demanded Mendouca. “Don’t know how to handle her? Well, it certainly appears that they do not,” as the fore-topsail-halliard was started and the yard slid slowly down the mast, leaving the topgallant-sail and royal fully set above it. “By Jove, I have it!” he suddenly continued, slapping his thigh energetically. “Yonder brig is in possession of a cargo of slaves who have somehow been allowed to rise and overpower her crew! Yes, by heaven, that must be the explanation of it! At all events we will run down and see. Blow, good breeze, blow!” and he whistled energetically after the manner of seamen in want of a wind.

  The breeze, however, utterly refused to blow; on the contrary, it was growing more languid every minute, while our speed had dwindled down to a bare two knots; and the thunder-clouds were piling up overhead blacker and more menacing every minute. At length, when we were a bare three miles from the brig, the helmsman reported that we no longer had steerage-way, and as the Francesca slowly swung round upon her heel, bringing the brig broad on her starboard quarter, Mendouca stamped irritably on the deck, and cursed the weather, the brig, the brigantine; in fact he cursed �
�everything above an inch high,” as we say in the navy when we wish to describe a thorough, comprehensive outburst of profanity. At length, having given free vent to his impatience, he stood for a moment intently studying the lowering heavens, strode across the deck and glanced through the open skylight at the barometer, then turned to me and said, in English—

  “What think you, Dugdale; would it be safe, in your opinion, to send away a couple of boats to take possession of that brig? The glass has dropped nothing to speak of since it was set this morning, and that stuff up there promises nothing worse than a sharp thunderstorm and a pelting downpour of rain. The boats could reach her in forty minutes, when their crews would take possession, shorten sail, and wait for us to join. I’ll be bound there is sufficient ‘black ivory’ aboard there to spare me the necessity to return to the coast and to make good all my losses.”

  In my turn I too looked at the sky intently.

  “I hardly know what to make of it,” I answered at length. “It may be, as you say, that there is nothing worse than thunder brewing up there; yet there is something in the look of those clouds that I do not altogether like; their colour, for instance, is too livid a purple for thunder alone, according to my idea, and I do not like the way in which they are working; why, they are as busy as a barrel of yeast; depend on it, señor, there is wind, and plenty of it, up there. As to how long it may be before the outburst comes, you have had more experience than I of this part of the world, and ought to know the weather better than I do.”

  “Well, I dare say I do,” he assented, with apparent relief, and again raised his eyes and anxiously scrutinised the clouds. “I’ll risk it,” he at length exclaimed, decisively, and forthwith turned and issued the necessary orders to his chief mate, who trundled away forward, bawling to the men as he went; and in a few minutes all was bustle and activity about our decks, the arm-chests being brought on deck, and the selected boats’ crews coming aft and receiving their weapons from Mendouca himself, while the gunner served out the ammunition. The rascals were a smart, active lot—I will give them credit for so much—and in less than ten minutes from the announcement of Mendouca’s decision, the boats, two of them, with ten men in each, were in the glassy water, and their crews stretching out lustily for the brig.

  It was perfectly evident to me that Mendouca was possessed by a feeling that his eagerness to acquire the brig’s cargo of negroes had warped his judgment and egged him on to an unduly risky course of action in sending his boats and so many of his people away in the face of that threatening sky; the boats had no sooner shoved off than he became consumed by anxiety, and, oblivious of the suffocating heat and closeness of the atmosphere, proceeded to pace the deck to and fro with hasty, impatient strides, halting abruptly at frequent intervals to scrutinise the aspect of the sky, and, anon, to watch the progress of the boats. The crews of the latter were evidently quite aware that the expedition upon which they were engaged was by no means free from peril, for until they had reached a distance too great to enable us to distinguish their actions, I could see first one and then another glancing aloft and over his shoulder at the sky, the action being invariably followed by the exhibition of increased energy at the oar. They were clearly doing their utmost, one and all; in fact the boats were making a downright race of it for the brig; the men bending their backs and throwing their whole strength into every stroke, churning the oily-looking surface of the water into foam with their oar-blades, and leaving a long, wedge-like wake behind them, while the two mates in charge, and who had hold of the yoke-lines, were bowing forward at every stroke in true racing style. Yet, rapid as their progress was, it did not satisfy Mendouca, who, every time that he paused to watch their progress, stamped upon the deck with impatience, and cursed the oarsmen for a set of lazy, good-for-nothing lubbers.

  And there was ample, justification for his anxiety; for scarcely had the boats reached a quarter of a mile from the Francesca than there was a sudden and very perceptible darkening of the heavens, followed by a vivid flash of lightning low down toward the eastern horizon, the low, muffled boom of the thunder coming reverberating across the glassy water with the sound of a cannon-shot rolled slowly along a timber floor.

  * * *

  Chapter Twelve.

  An Awful Catastrophe.

  Presently, after one of his frequent halts, Mendouca turned and gave orders to shorten sail. “Clew up and haul down fore and aft; stow everything except the main-staysail; and see that you make a snug furl of it, men!” he cried; adding, as he turned to me—

  “We might as well be snugging down as doing nothing; and perhaps the sight will put some life into the movements of those lazy rascals yonder,” pointing with his cigar as he spoke towards the boats.

  “Possibly,” I agreed. “And in any case it appears to me that the time has fully arrived for the commencement of such preparations as you may think fit to make for the coming blow, which, in my humble opinion, is going to be rather sharp while it lasts.”

  “Yes; no doubt,” Mendouca assented. “Curse those lazy hounds! Have they no eyes in their heads to see what is brewing? If they don’t wake up, they will have the squall upon them before they reach the brig.”

  “In which case,” said I, “you may say good-bye to the brig and to the slaves in her; and may think yourself lucky if you are able to recover your boats.”

  I do not know whether he heard me or not. I think it probable that he did; but he made no reply, turning his back upon me, and keeping his glances alternately roving between the boats and the sky, which latter had by this time assumed a most sinister and threatening aspect, so much so, indeed, that had I been in Mendouca’s place I should have recalled the boats without another moment’s delay. But I could see that he had set his heart upon securing possession of the brig, and was willing to run a considerable amount of risk in the effort to do so.

  At length, when the boats were, according to my estimation, a little better than half-way to the brig, another flash of lightning, vivid and blinding, blazed forth, this time from almost overhead, only the very smallest perceptible interval of time elapsing between it and the accompanying thunder-crash, which was so appallingly loud and startling that for a moment I felt fairly deaf and stunned with it, and before I had fairly recovered my dazed senses the rain came pelting down in drops as large as crown-pieces. The rain lasted for only three or four seconds, however, and then ceased again abruptly, while almost at the same instant a brief scurry of wind swept past us, just lifting the staysail—which was by this time the only sail remaining set on board us—and causing it to flap feebly for a moment, when it was once more calm again; but we could trace the puff a long distance to the westward by its track along the oily surface of the water.

  Mendouca turned to me with an oath. “When it comes, it will come to us dead on end from the brig!” he exclaimed. “It is just like my cursed luck! Do you think it is too late to recall the boats?”

  “Yes,” I answered decidedly. “They are now nearer the brig than they are to us, and their best chance certainly is to keep on as they are going.”

  Mendouca turned and bestowed upon the boats yet another long scrutinising glance; and then said, with his eyes still fixed upon them—

  “I do not agree with you. I think they are quite as near to us as they are to the brig; and if they keep on and the squall bursts before they reach the brig, they will have to pull against it, and may perhaps not fetch her after all, whereas if I recall them, and they are overtaken before they reach us, they will have the wind all in their favour instead of dead against them.”

  “That is very true,” I assented. “It appears to me, however, that the whole question hinges upon the point whether they are nearer to us or to the brig; and in my opinion they are much nearer to the latter.”

  For fully another minute Mendouca continued to watch the boats; then he suddenly exclaimed—

  “I shall recall them. Clear away the bow gun there, and fire it with a blank cartridge; and, Pe
dro, get out the recall signal, and stand by to run it up to the main-truck at the flash of the gun.”

  The signal was made, the boom of the gun seeming to echo with a hollow, long-drawn-out reverberation between sea and sky; and within a minute the boats, with seeming reluctance, had turned and were pulling back to the brigantine.

  Meanwhile the heavens had continued to darken, until, by the time that the boats had turned, the whole scene had become involved in a murky twilight, through the gloom of which the brig, still with every stitch of canvas set, could with difficulty be made out. Still, although it seemed to me that the brooding squall might burst upon us at any moment, the atmosphere maintained its ominous condition of stagnation until the boats had reached within some four cables’ lengths—or somewhat less than half-a-mile—of us; when, as I was intently watching their progress, I saw the sky suddenly break along the horizon just above them, the clouds appearing as though rent violently apart for a length of some ten or twelve degrees of arc, while the rent was filled with a strong yet misty glare of coppery-yellow light, in the very centre of which the brig stood out sharply-defined, and as black as a shape cut out of silhouette paper.

  “Here it comes, at last!” I exclaimed; and as the words passed my lips I felt a spot of rain upon my face, and in another instant down it came, a regular deluge, but only for about half a minute, when it ceased abruptly, and, looking toward the brig, I saw a long line of white foam sweeping down towards her.

  “God help those poor, unhappy blacks!” I cried. “If that craft’s spars and rigging happen to be good she will turn the turtle with them, and probably not one of them will escape!”